


An Unexpected Reaction

by N3GatorFan



Category: Forever (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Budding Love, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Deleted Scenes, Developing Friendships, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Gen, Henry Dies Off-Page, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N3GatorFan/pseuds/N3GatorFan
Summary: Shortly after every death in front of someone, Henry has had a tendency to flee his current life to avoid the exposure of his secret.  This time, it’s different.  Missing scenes from the Pilot.  One-shot.
Relationships: Abe Morgan & Henry Morgan, Jo Martinez & Henry Morgan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	An Unexpected Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The concept, canon, and canon characters belong to Forever creator Matt Miller and Warner Bros. Studios. All other characters, the plot for the story, and Henry’s flashbacks are my own creation. I have posted my story here, and I don’t profit from it. (Translation: I don’t own Forever, but I wish I did!)
> 
> Author’s Note: The idea, my take on what happens between two iconic scenes from the Pilot, has been playing around in my head for a while. I hope that you will enjoy it. (By the way, I’m holding out a virtual box of tissues in case you need them.)
> 
> There are references to “Look Before You Leap”, “New York Kids”, and “The Last Death of Henry Morgan”.

“Abraham, come on! Pick up!” Henry softly hissed as he listened to the ringing on the other end of the phone line.

He placed his free arm on the nearby wall and rested his head on his forearm to create some privacy. On any other night, he would welcome Abe’s delayed response so that he could concoct an explanation for the night’s events that sounded reasonable to the eavesdropping officers in the detention center. Tonight, however, Henry was in no mood to tolerate a postponement of any length.

Eventually, the ringing stopped, and a click and Abe’s voice rapidly succeeded each other. “Abe’s Antiques.”

Henry inhaled and reminded himself to use his son’s nickname. “Abe, it’s me.”

“Pops? Where are you?” As if to answer his question, the door to a nearby jail cell slammed shut, and a fellow arrestee shouted an obscenity at an officer as the officer walked away.

Abe’s exasperated sigh redirected Henry’s attention to the phone. “This is the second time this week that you’ve been arrested! What happened this time?”

The image of Detective Jo Martinez being shot in the right shoulder and falling to the ground on top of Grand Central Station’s roof flashed before Henry’s eyes. A sense of panic began to fill him, and he took a deep breath to stop it. “I can’t explain. Not now.”

“Okay.” His voice softened, indicating that Abe gratefully understood the subtext of his father’s comments. “You know that you’ll have to tell me about it in the morning?”

Henry closed his eyes and wished that he would have more information before he could speak with Abe again. When he opened them again, he sighed. “I will.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Try to get some rest in the meantime.” With that, Abe hung up the phone.

Henry dropped his arm, straightened his posture, and placed the receiver in his hand back onto the base. He turned around, and the officer who had escorted him into the cell area during his last stay earlier in the week strolled toward him. Officer Jameson took Henry by the arm and began to guide him through the hallway.

As they started their walk, Henry took one last glance back at the door leading to the outside. He wanted to race out of the detention center and back to Grand Central Station. If he could made it in time, he would still have an opportunity to save her life.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. A short time ago, he had approached a couple in East River Park in hopes of borrowing their cell phone and calling Abe so that the younger Morgan could take him back to the terminal. The couple, in turn, flagged down a passing officer, and Henry was arrested again. Instead of returning to the station, he now had to resign himself to spending another night in jail.

“You know, if you keep this up, we’ll have to give you a key to your own cell.” Officer Jameson’s subsequent chuckle was an attempt to make the whole ordeal more lighthearted. The teasing laugh, however, came across as a lack of understanding of the gravity of the situation.

Henry reluctantly allowed himself to be directed to the nearest empty cell. Officer Jameson stopped at one and stepped aside. Henry submissively entered the cell. As the door clanked behind him and the officer walked away, Henry took a second to evaluate his surroundings. Fortunately, he was escorted to a small cell designed to hold just one person.

He sat down on the bunk and turned around to lean against the wall. He crossed his arms to obtain some additional comfort, and he listened to the sounds of the night shift. Several arrestees talked amongst themselves while, in the distance, the officers assigned to the detention center discussed the day’s events. Outside, traffic passed the building, unperturbed by the structure’s purpose or occupants.

Ordinarily, the sounds would serve as a pleasant distraction from the considerations of a death at the hands of another person. Tonight, though, Henry’s thoughts were a tumultuous sea that threatened to capsize and sink his carefully maintained emotions. He inhaled, but the breath failed to still his thoughts.

He knew why his mind was perturbed. Hans Koehler never gave him the opportunity to properly assess the severity of Jo’s injury. As painful as the memory was, Henry forced himself to remember the night’s events to indirectly determine her present condition. There were several possible scenarios for the bullet’s entry into Jo’s right shoulder, but, without physically seeing the wound, it was impossible to decide which outcome was likely.

Anger, directed more at himself than at Koehler, rose in Henry. If he had never boarded the ill-fated train a few days ago, none of this would have happened. His stalker would have never seen his death after the crash, and the man would have never contacted him. Henry’s curiosity would have never led him and Jo to Koehler and to his plans for the terminal. Tonight, Jo would be at home eating what she considered to be a proper dinner and engaging in what she felt was appropriate evening entertainment afterward instead of lying on a roof injured and alone.

He stopped himself. Based on both of his and Jo’s encounters with Koehler, the grieving widower was intent on carrying out his plans to avenge his wife’s death. Thousands would have died in Grand Central Station, and countless more would have been harmed by the aconite. If Henry were called to the scene, he likely would have died if the ventilation system wasn’t shut off in time. With his immortality exposed to his colleagues, he and Abe would have to move again, this time against Abe’s wishes to remain in New York.

Henry cursed the day that he had become immortal. For the second time in nearly sixty years, his condition had forced him to break his oath as a doctor. Now, a detective with exceptional powers of deduction and a bright future in her profession was possibly dying as he had been unable to treat her or to direct medical officials to her location.

Concerning the latter, it wasn’t for a lack of trying. He had overheard the chatter of the officers assigned to the scene on the police radio while he was being escorted to the patrol car. He causally suggested to his arresting officer that someone should check out the roof of the terminal. The patrol officer, however, had given him a strange look as he had pushed Henry into the vehicle.

Henry’s thoughts abruptly broke. How much time had elapsed since he had arrived here? He leaned toward the door of the jail cell and looked at a clock on a far wall. Over an hour had passed. He sighed. According to one case scenario—.

Henry slowly moved his body back to the wall that held his bunk. Tears threatened to form. He had just met Jo, but he unexpectedly felt a deep sense of loss.

He willed himself to stop. It was highly inappropriate to exhibit any sentiments—including grief—toward a professional colleague whom he had barely known. He suppressed his feelings so that he could focus on the present.

His emotions remained well-schooled, but his memories rebelled. Every moment that he had spent with Jo, from the second that she had overheard him call the engineer “lucky” until their most recent encounter with Koehler, appeared before him for the second time that night. He exhaled; he didn’t need to be reminded of his failure to save Jo.

He wished that he could trade his immortality for Jo’s life. In spite of her profession’s emphasis on personal sacrifice, her life mattered also. Despite the very brief time that he had known her, Henry could see that she had a lot to offer the world. For that, he would gladly give up his curse for a chance to let her live her life again.

A shiver coursed through his body. It was likely a delayed reaction to his time in the East River tonight. He drew his legs toward him and tightened his arms around them. He stayed in his position until his legs began to cramp. He then returned to his original position. To his dismay, the shivering continued.

Abe’s order to get some rest entered Henry’s mind. Rest was impossible, but there was nothing that he could do for Jo. He listened to the traffic outside his window and hoped that it would lull him into a dreamless sleep.

Officer Jameson’s voice suddenly drifted into the now-quiet area, and two more voices joined his in conversation. One was Henry’s arresting officer; the other voice was slightly familiar. As far as Henry knew, it could belong to someone who had arrested him months ago.

“Jack, sorry I couldn’t take over your shift.” The familiar voice now rang in the hallway. “I was called in to evacuate Grand Central Station if needs be.”

The terminal’s informal but better-known name caught Henry’s attention. He unfolded himself and walked to the cell’s door so that he could hear the conversation better.

“What happened?” Officer Jameson seemed interested.

“Some guy tried to poison everyone with aconite. He then fell off the roof and bounced off a nearby taxi cab before landing on the ground.”

“Is anyone else hurt?”

“Yeah. One of the 11th Precinct’s homicide detectives, Martinez, was shot. Apparently, the guy tried to kill her before his death. Her partner—Hanson, I think—noticed that she was missing. He and several other guys went to the roof and found her there. She’s been taken to Bellevue, and she’s in surgery now to remove the bullet.”

Henry’s eyes widened, and he turned his head away to regain his composure. He couldn’t believe his ears. Jo was still alive. How could it be?

Jack suddenly gasped. “Dude, how did he know that?!”

“Who?” The officer with the familiar voice sounded puzzled.

“The wet, naked guy that I picked up tonight in East River Park. He told me that someone was on the station’s roof.”

Henry froze just as he finished turning his head back toward the trio. He hoped that the officers wouldn’t compare experiences and realize what else had happened tonight.

Officer Jameson’s chuckle broke Henry’s spell. “Dr. Morgan? He probably overheard the chatter on the radio and made a guess. Honestly, I think that he read too many Sherlock Holmes novels when he was a kid. His Sherlock impersonation, however, makes him one of the best medical examiners in the city—.”

Henry went back to his bunk and sat down on it. Jo was alive, and she was in surgery. It meant that, as far as he knew, the bullet was likely lodged in a muscle.

Fortunately, surgical techniques had improved tremendously since he had been an Army doctor in World War II and an emergency department doctor immediately after that, and many lives had been saved due to the new procedures. He reviewed each type of surgery on the affected area and its possible outcomes. A couple of methods yielded the same results as his inaction, but the rest produced much more favorable results.

As reality began to set in, Henry breathed out a sigh of relief. Hanson was able to effectively communicate what he had been unable to. Barring any complications, Jo would live as a result of her partner’s quick thinking.

Footsteps approached the cell, forcing Henry to look at their source. Jack, appearing thoroughly chastened, stood before him.

“I’m sorry. I should have listened to what you said. They could have gotten to her sooner—.”

Henry raised a hand and looked him in the eye. “In the heat of the moment, you had no way of knowing whether my statement was true. You acted appropriately, and I commend you for that.” He wished that he could believe it for his own situation.

The officer’s eyes widened. He stammered before saying thank you and leaving Henry to his thoughts.

Henry leaned his head against the wall. His thoughts seemed to have stilled since he had received the good news. In the next second, he noticed that he had stopped shivering. The soft fabric of his sweat suit felt like a warm, comfortable blanket over his body.

He exhaled. Jo was receiving the medical attention that she needed, but he still had a strong desire to see her once he was released. He couldn’t act on it right now. At the moment, all he could do was listen for more news about her condition. Hopefully, he would know something by morning.

The clank of the door jerked Henry’s body. He blinked and looked at the source as he tried to calm himself. To his surprise, Officer Jameson stood on the other side of the open door.

“You’re free to leave.”

_Already? It’s only been a couple of hours._

Confused, Henry glanced out his window. The sun streamed into the small cell, and he could hear the morning traffic racing past him.

_How is this possible?_

Henry’s mind went back to the last thing that he remembered. It was still dark outside when he had learned about Jo’s surgery. A brief glance at Officer Jameson’s watch revealed that eight hours had passed since Henry had last looked at a clock. He rubbed his face as he realized that he had quickly fallen asleep while waiting for word about Jo.

Henry started to ask the officer about her condition. He stopped himself. His question would indicate that he was present at the scene, and it would arouse suspicions.

“I think that your roommate is waiting for you outside.”

At the mention of Abe, Henry rose from the bunk, and they began their trip down the hallway. They stopped just long enough for Officer Jameson to get his coat. After the interlude, they stopped to arrange Henry’s payment of his fine and his release on his own recognizance.

They continued their trip until they reached a group of the officer’s friends. Officer Jameson waved for him to leave the premise. Henry hesitantly waved back and continued along the familiar path to the outside.

The door opened, and the bright morning sun nearly blinded him as he walked past a couple and out the door. He stopped on the steps and let his eyes adjust to the light. It was still difficult to believe that it was daylight, but the sunshine was slowly convincing him of the time.

He started down the sidewalk. Each barefoot step on the cold concrete cleared the residual sleepiness and disorientation. He looked down the street. Abe’s car was nowhere in sight. As much as Henry wanted to see his son, he would rather see if Jo survived the night.

Bellevue was some distance from the detention center, but it was still walkable. If he kept walking, he could arrive there within the hour. A quick glance at the intersection, however, revealed that the traffic would prolong his journey. If only there was a faster way—

For the second time this week, a car horn honked, forcing him to turn around and to find its source. He quickly found Abe and his sedan. Abe’s wave spurred Henry to jog back to the car.

He opened the door, and slid into his seat. Abe began to wrap a blanket around his shoulders, but Henry tensed and fastened his seat belt. “Not now.”

He turned to Abe and noticed a worried expression on his son’s face. A tinge of guilt hit him; he shouldn’t have brushed off Abe’s gesture.

“What’s going on?”

The memories of last night’s events returned. Henry could feel a degree of worry rise in him. The longer they stayed, the more unmanageable it would become. “Can it wait until we get home?”

Still concerned, Abe sighed and obediently shifted the car into gear before pulling out of his parking space. As they travelled, Henry could see Abe’s glances toward him in his peripheral vision. He knew that he needed to answer his son’s questions, but, at the moment, he couldn’t.

With the traffic and the red lights, the trip home was longer than usual. To remain calm, Henry reviewed each procedure again and tried to match the technique with Jo’s injury. He made some progress in determining what happened and Jo’s chances of survival. He, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that complications could have arisen overnight.

Suddenly, the parking garage near Delancey and Essex loomed overhead. Abe wove his way through the garage and to a parking spot. They exited the car and walked back to the entrance. Henry longed to sprint to the antiques shop, but Abe’s slightly slower gait caused him to stay by his son’s side. As they walked, Henry wished that Abe would refrain from asking any more questions. Fortunately, Abe remained silent the entire time.

Soon, Abe unlocked the door to the shop, and they headed upstairs. Abe stepped into the kitchen while Henry rushed into his bedroom. He pulled the first suit that caught his eye out of the closet and laid it on the bed. He stripped off his new sweat suit and tossed it into the hamper.

A faint whiff of foul odor hit his nose and reminded him of his most recent swim. Maybe he should shower and shave before he saw Jo. The sound of the refrigerator door closing stopped him as he touched the doorknob. If Abe was cooking, he didn’t have much time for one.

Perhaps it was for the best. The sooner that he could see Jo, the better. He slipped on his pants, found another belt, and wove it through the belt loops.

Abe’s raised voice entered the room. “What’s caused your moodiness?”

Henry slipped on his shirt, tucked it into his pants, and put on his waistcoat. Whether he wanted to or not, he needed to tell Abe about last night. “I want to see someone in the hospital.”

“Who?”

He needed to start at the beginning. “Yesterday, the police questioned me about the subway crash. As they had no concrete evidence against me, I was free to leave. I went back to work on the engineer, and Lucas and I found a fingerprint belonging to a grieving widower named Hans Koehler.” He reached toward his end table for his pocket watch and instantly remembered that it was still a piece of evidence in the case. “I brought the print upstairs to Jo—.”

“Who?”

“Detective Martinez—.” Abe’s silence signaled that he still didn’t recognize the woman. “The detective who stepped out of our front door as we pulled up the other night.”

“The attractive one who teased you about your wet hair even though she was steamed at you?” Abe chuckled.

Henry pulled his coat over his shoulders and let it slowly drop onto his body. Her comment about going for a late-night swim had rendered him utterly speechless and his mind unable to form either a sharp rebuke or a witty retort.

He snapped his attention back to his story. “Yes, that’s her. Anyway, Jo and I went to Koehler’s house and discovered a greenhouse full of monkshood, schematics to Grand Central Station, and enough aconite to poison everyone in the terminal.”

“Please tell me they caught the guy.”

Henry’s mind automatically went back to that moment in time. He quickly slipped on his socks and shoes and found the suit’s coordinating scarf as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Koehler shot both Jo and me on the roof.” He found the money for his subway fare and placed it in his pocket. He took his scarf and walked out of the bedroom. “When I regained consciousness, Koehler was bent over one of the casks. I don’t know what happened next, but I do remember that both of us were falling to the ground seconds before our deaths.”

“Did Jo see what happened?”

“Likely.” Based on the times that he had been shot, he was certain that she had regained consciousness in time to see it.

“You do realize that, if you show up at her bedside, your secret’s out?”

“I need to see her.” Henry stepped into the kitchen and draped his scarf around his neck.

Abe’s sudden turn stopped Henry in his tracks. “At least, get yourself some breakfast. You don’t need to pass out from hunger in front of her. In the meantime, you can calm down.”

Henry noticed several empty glass bowls in the sink. The smell of fresh omelets enticed him to stay for a while longer. A grumbling stomach prompted him to sit down at the table.

He sighed. Abe was right. He was being overly emotional, and he needed to regain full composure so that he could accurately assess her condition.

Abe placed a plate in front of Henry before sitting with his plate. Henry made some toast and began to eat his omelet.

“Do you trust her?” Abe’s voice was incredulous as he bit into his toast.

Henry took another bite. Yesterday, he couldn’t believe that he had slipped about his experiments with aconite, and he quickly attributed it to his unfamiliarity with her interrogation technique. As the interview continued, he realized that she had seen several pieces of evidence that pointed to his immortality. She never said a word about the strange nature of her findings. Instead, she seemed to believe that the evidence was a part of his life. Soon, he found himself telling Jo the cover story about his pocket watch that he and Abigail had invented after she had found it at an auction years ago and not his usual story of finding it at an estate sale.

“I might.”

Abe raised his eyebrows. Henry looked down at his plate. He knew why Abe was surprised. His emotional state and an expression of trust were very uncharacteristic of him. He longed for a way to regain his emotional stability.

“It sounds like you’re making a new friend.”

Henry raised his head and looked his son in the eye. “I barely know her. We’re just colleagues on this case.”

“Isn’t that how it starts?”

Henry redirected his attention to his meal. It was, but for the last thirty years, he had been careful to avoid forming any more relationships so that he could prevent the grief associated with losing the people he cared about. To maintain some semblance of a professional relationship, he had noted everything about his colleagues—including Dr. Talbert Ross, the medical examiner whom he had worked under when he first joined the OCME nearly six years ago, and Lucas—without revealing much about himself, a practice which allowed him to write letters of condolences to the families of the fallen men in his unit during World War II. Otherwise, he had rejected all invitations to dinner, parties, and drinks, and he had refused to allow himself to feel any emotional attachment to anyone other than Abe.

Yet, with Jo, it was different. Something was stirring up thoughts and feelings that he hadn’t had in a very long time. Possibly, his unexpected reactions originated from almost seeing her die from aconite poisoning like he had the other night.

He leaned over and looked at the clock on the mantle in the living room. He suddenly realized why Abe had prepared omelets instead of their traditional English breakfast. Henry still needed to go to work today.

If he wanted to see Jo before work, he should finish his breakfast instead of pondering his feelings. He took a bite of toast and began to rush through his meal.

Henry swallowed as he walked through Bellevue’s main entrance. It had been almost sixty years since he and Abigail had both worked here and about 120 years since he was admitted for his injuries from the beating in Alphabet City. Yet, he still felt nervous because of the hospital’s association with psychiatry.

He inhaled. He was neither a patient nor an employee. Today, he was merely a visitor who was concerned about one of the hospital’s patients.

He followed the signs to the information desk. A fear that Jo might not have survived the night rose in him as he approached the middle-age woman sitting behind the counter.

The woman hung up the phone and looked at him. “May I help you?”

He smiled nervously. “I’m looking for a patient named Jo Martinez. She was brought here last night.”

“What relation are you to her?”

“A friend.” The word sat strangely on his tongue, but it was the only way that the staff would allow him to see her.

The woman started to type. After a moment, the receptionist gave him a room number and directed him to the elevators. He thanked her and left.

When he was out of the receptionist’s sight, he stopped and leaned against a wall. He blinked back his forming tears as he exhaled an unconsciously held breath. Jo was in a room. She had survived the night. Elation filled him, and, with a spring in his step, he resumed his trip.

When he reached her floor, he followed the signs to her room. As he entered the hallway, he noticed someone exiting one of the rooms. To his surprise, it was Hanson.

Hanson met Henry in the hallway. “Doc, what are you doing here?”

“I overheard what had happened, and I wanted to visit Jo.”

“Well, she’ll be glad to see you.” He scoffed. “I came by a couple of hours ago, and she asked me where you were before falling asleep again.”

Henry stood in stunned disbelief. Jo asked about him?

Hanson tapped Henry on the chest with the back of his hand and lowered his voice. “Hey, what happened last night? You left her alone on the roof.”

A tinge of guilt grew in the pit of his stomach. Hanson was Jo’s partner, and he shouldn’t lie to the detective for Jo’s sake. Still, he couldn’t tell Hanson what really occurred as it would raise even more suspicions in Hanson’s mind. “I went to get help. I got a little tied up, and I was unable to return.”

Hanson mulled his comment. “That had to be some crazy tie-up.” He paused and then stuttered for a moment. “Thanks for your help on the case.” With that, he brushed past Henry and headed toward the elevators.

Henry stood in his place. Hanson’s parting words echoed in his head. It was the first time that any member of the NYPD had thanked him for his assistance.

The clock on the wall in the nearby room caught Henry’s attention and reminded him of his time. He continued to Jo’s room and walked in. He studied the monitor and her appearance. From what he could tell, Jo’s surgery only required the extraction of the bullet, and she appeared normal for someone who would be out of anesthesia at any moment. She was resting peacefully. It was time for him to leave.

He couldn’t bring himself to do so.

He had no desire to leave her side.

He stood there for a minute. He hadn’t been like this in nearly thirty years. When did he form a strong connection to her?

His first thought was their conversation at the bar. That, however, didn’t explain his genuine smile at her while he spoke with his stalker on the phone, his reaction to her comment about his wet hair, why he wanted to protect her when they first arrived at Koehler’s house, why he even suggested the drinks, or any other interaction with her beyond a work relationship. His connection must have started the minute that she had walked into the morgue, and it had persisted to this moment.

“ _You do realize that, if you show up at her bedside, your secret’s out?”_

He didn’t care. If she was anyone else, he would have already fled the country by now. Somehow, though, the urge to run vanished when he was around her. Something about her made him feel safe.

She might seem to believe him, but he wasn’t sure of her reaction to the truth. If he lied just one more time, he could judge her response. If she insisted that she had seen him fall off the roof, then he would confirm it and tell her that he was immortal.

He suddenly felt a new urge. He walked up to her bedside and smiled. The doctors were treating the burn on her right hand as well.

He looked at her face. He had noticed her beauty the second that he had first seen her, but this was the first time that he could study it. She wasn’t his type, but he rarely had seen such exquisite beauty in a woman. She looked as though she had stepped out of a classicist painting and into the modern world, stopping long enough to change into more fashionable attire.

Wanting to reassure himself, he reached out and took her hand. His breath caught in his throat as he gently lifted her arm and twisted her hospital band to see her birth date.

Reassured that she was born in the 20th century, he glanced at her name. His eyes widened when he read “Josephine”. He hadn’t heard the name since it had fallen out of favor for “Joanna” and “JoBeth”. He reverently lowered her arm. Whether it was a childhood preference or a way to survive in a traditionally man’s world, both names suited her.

His heart raced as he continued gazing at her. He quickly averted his gaze, and his eyes landed on the lone bouquet on her drawers. A sense of sadness washed over him. Like him, she had isolated herself from almost everyone but Hanson after the death of her husband. As a result, it appeared that, aside from Hanson and himself, no one else cared for her.

Based on his experience, it was frightening to wake up in the hospital with a complete stranger by one’s side. He wanted to hold her hand, stroke her cheek—do something—to let her know that someone she knew cared enough to stay with her until she regained full consciousness.

A patch of white caught his attention. He turned to it. While he was thinking, his left hand had reached out to her right one and was about to take it into his.

He swiftly withdrew his hand and walked around her bed. Contrary to what he had told Jo, a piece of him still expected Abigail to walk through the doors of the antiques shop at any time and to tell him that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him and Abe. A platonic gesture toward another woman would be tantamount to cheating on his wife.

Even if Abigail was truly gone like he believed, a touch like that would remain highly inappropriate. With the exception of Koehler’s autopsy, the case was over, and he and Jo would soon part. Holding her hand, even as a source of comfort, would be too familiar for mere acquaintances.

He focused his attention to the window to compose himself. He wished that their occupations wouldn’t sever their connection. In the short time that they had spent together, he had come to care for her, and he didn’t want to lose what was forming.

He bit his lower lip in thought. Their paths would cross again during a future case. If he was assigned to one of her cases, he could personally bring his findings upstairs and present them and his insights to her. Hopefully, it would lead to a few minutes of personal conversation as well.

As he observed the people on the street below, a reflection of something inside the room moved. Curious, he turned around. He smiled as he noticed that Jo’s shoulder had flinched.

He turned in time to see Jo’s eyes flutter open.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Within the next few minutes, Adam ruins Henry’s first opportunity to tell Jo the truth and reintroduces the fear that Jo might be like everyone else when she finds out. Fortunately for us fans, Henry’s mind won’t fully accept that fear, and we get 21 more episodes of dropped hints and moments where he practically tells her the truth before the end of 1x22. : )
> 
> In my head canon, both Henry and Jo do not remember Henry grabbing Koehler and throwing him off of the roof. Jo’s memory is very hazy for the act, but she clearly remembers seeing Henry and Koehler go over the ledge. As for Henry, he just doesn’t remember it, similar to his inability to remember dropping the key to the slaves’ cells in “Dead Men Tell Long Tales”. To the both of them, Clark Walker is the first person that Henry kills and not Hans Koehler.
> 
> I have a way to reconcile this story with Henry’s comment about forgetting what it’s like to feel vulnerable in “Memories of Murder”. This falls under a whole different category than his wait by Molly’s bedside in that episode. I'll probably write it one day.


End file.
